


remember the exits in back of me

by manhattan



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Control Issues, Dom/sub Undertones, Frottage, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Frustration, Verbal Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-01-25 00:44:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1622873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manhattan/pseuds/manhattan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Kageyama," says Hinata, matter-of-factly, his eyes still wide with realization, "I just noticed, but – when it comes down to it, aren't you just a, uh, what’s it called?” His face scrunches up in thought. Tsukishima looks radiant, almost as if unable to contain himself but somehow managing it. Hinata’s face breaks into a smile, then, something so bright and combustible that Kageyama almost brings his hand up to cover his eyes. “Ah-<i>ha</i>! I know! A control freak!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. on the one hand,

**Author's Note:**

> this goes on, like, immediately after chapter 69 bc im a sadist, so beware of spoilers \\(´3`)/
> 
> i have a headcanon that kageyama’s impressive ball control started out when he started playing (second year of elementary, I think? what the fuck) since he must’ve practiced like crazy to keep a cool head and see the players in the field at the same time. he got good, then he got excellent, and then it started to spill onto his life. now he can’t stop mentally checking where everyone is and what they are doing and saying and sometimes it drives him fucking crazy
> 
> tl;dr kageyama is such a control freak he literally can’t stop himself from noticing everything (including how badly he wants to get busy with hinata). yeah
> 
> listen to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3CccPPDe2JU) too or ur a weenie

Kageyama is not a good student, but he’s not _too_ stupid, or anything – he knows himself well, and he knows there’s something off about his flow.

It’s their first practice after Seijou. It hasn't been going well for him, despite his best attempts to curb his picky tendencies; it's a matter of time before Kageyama loses it, snapping at Hinata for a failed spike. It’s this delay in his jump, sometimes, when he’s not paying attention, and though it’s tiny, it’s more than annoying.

This time, Hinata doesn’t roll his eyes and pick up the ball. Instead, the volleyball smacks dully against the floor behind Hinata's ankles, but the other boy ignores it, glancing at Kageyama curiously. Tsukishima, by the net with Tanaka, is already staring, too, eager for one of Hinata's foot-in-mouth moments. Suga looks interested, too, though he is much subtler. Kageyama stops looking around – instead focuses on Hinata, who has cocked his head to the left in a perfect forty-five degree angle. He looks like someone’s broken his neck, so Tsukishima lets a little breathy sound escape from his twitching mouth even as he sends the ball to Tanaka.

"Kageyama," says Hinata, matter-of-factly, his eyes still wide with realization, "I just noticed, but – when it comes down to it, aren't you just a, uh, what’s it called?” His face scrunches up in thought. Tsukishima looks _radiant_ , almost as if unable to contain himself but somehow managing it. Hinata’s face breaks into a smile, then, something so bright and combustible that Kageyama almost brings his hand up to cover his eyes. “Ah- _ha!_ I know! A control freak!”

There’s a skid of a sneaker against the wood, screeching, and, behind them, a hand that probably belongs to Daichi tightens around a water bottle so hard it cracks even louder. Someone falls to the floor, a failed spike heading woozily to the other side of the field. Kageyama doesn't need to look to know it's Tanaka, because his barking laughter is loud and mocking behind them, even as he struggles to get up from the wooden floor. Kageyama closes his hands. The blond, by the net, gets this look on his eyes that tells him: I will never, ever let you live this down. Kageyama sneers at him, almost like he’s unaffected. Another distasteful nickname to add to the repertoire, so what, whatever.

Hinata blinks, oblivious and defensive, and opens his mouth to ask a stressed-out looking Suga about something Kageyama blocks out in order to maintain his sanity. Suga gets this vacant look in his eyes and turns his face away.

Hinata turns to Tsukishima and Tanaka, and Kageyama looks away, into the closed doors of the gym.

It's not like he's never heard it before – selfish egotistical king, tyrannical dictator -, but where his teammates' voices had been quiet with disinterest and an icy, finishing outline, Hinata's voice is only casual, like he's pointing out a funnily-shaped cloud or commenting on how much Tanaka eats when they win a practice game. For once, it’s not a verbal blow, or a teasing remark, or anything – it’s just Hinata overcoming his obliviousness slow step by slow step. Kageyama swallows, his hands fisted at his sides, and wonders why, then, it feels so much more invasive.

The argument brewing between Tanaka, Tsukishima, and an increasingly ignored Hinata is put to a halt by a placid Daichi - the three boys straighten and quickly move away. Kageyama breathes in, wiping his hands on his pants, feeling embarrassed and without knowing why. His hands remain sweaty, even after.

He plays terribly for the remainder of practice, and leaves early for the first time ever, excusing himself with an early summer fever. The team is understanding, telling him to make sure to keep up with training or “I’ll leave you in the dust!” (Hinata), to sleep well and take it easy until they grow used to the heat (Azumane and Suga) and to eat at the _very_   _least_ three and a half boxes of warm honeyed lemons (Tanaka and Nishinoya). Daichi gives him a look, though, a glance that freezes the air around them and then melts it again, a thing so sudden Kageyama is half-sure he imagines it.

* * *

He's toweling his hair dry after a lukewarm shower when his cell phone beeps dryly from his desk. Kageyama searches for it under papers and unfinished homework (he needs to clean, hopefully tonight, if he manages), and reads Daichi's mail. He ignores Tanaka’s – the subject reads “OYY!!! have u eaten the lemonz yet?????”, so, like, no, thanks. Ever.

"Don't take it so hard," he writes. Daichi uses no abbreviations, and it makes his phrases feel dry. At least he's to the point; Nishinoya uses so many emoticons and exclamation points, the text is almost unreadable. He focuses, reads the rest:

"Try to find something to make you relax. d(-`д´-d ｡)!!" The emoticon startles him, and he doesn’t know whether he finds it amusing or just creepy. In the end, he just scoffs, throwing his phone on top of his bed and diving elbow-deep inside his schoolwork. The memory of Hinata's voice – just a control freak, he’d said, “just”, like Kageyama was _nothing_ but a picky little prince under his ruler’s thumb – lingers when he forgets to think of something else.

He breaks three leads; does the rest of his math equations in pencil.

* * *

"Wheeew," Tanaka whistles, emerging from the locker room, "you look like you're dying, Kageyama!"

"Gross," Tsukishima concurs dryly, behind him.

“I’m not dying,” he replies, upset.

“Too bad,” the bespectacled blond shoots back, smirking a little.

Kageyama grumbles rude things at them, passing by with stomping feet. Hinata isn't inside, he notices, eyes stopping on their senpais, huddled together and chatting casually. He bows his head at them, still not too used to being so familiar with his teammates.

"I'm pretty sure I told you to relax," Daichi pipes in, as a greeting. He's smiling for real, though, none of that eerily calmness, and Kageyama nods respectfully, having the decency to look appropriately frustrated.

"I had homework," he says, because he's been losing his sync with Hinata and he doesn't know why, so he's been practicing behind the gym during lunch hour, during breaks, sometimes even after practice—and all of those still don't tire him out as much as trying to keep it a secret from the rest of the team (Daichi would kill him). It’s not a lie, though – homework – and he did stay up late, so the shrug of his shoulders is easy and casual. Daichi still takes an evaluating second before replying.

"Is that so?" he returns gently. This time, yeah, it’s creepy. He suppresses a shiver while the other boy smiles pacifically, eyes narrowed. "I guess it can't be helped."

“Mm,” Kageyama adds in nervous agreement, turning away and taking off his shirt. He’s aching for movement, aching for the whited-out feel of his skull after practice. Lately, all he’s wanted to do is think about nothing, but … that’s stupid, isn’t it? He’s a setter, he’s the coolest, the control tower. He _has_ to think.

Kageyama lingers, staring at his shirt, the breeze rolling in through the half-open window. The curtains flutter and he tenses; his fingers are tight and tense today, he notices, when he's curling them around the collar - he's overdoing it with his personal training, he knows, but—

" _I'msorryI'mlatebutIwasstarvinhandtheydidn'thavethosereallytastygummybearsinthisblock'smachine_ ," Hinata screams in a rush, throwing the door open and heaving for breath after. He's already sweaty, flushed pink, and he turns a darker shade when the door slams hard against the wall.

Kageyama dimly notices holding onto his folded practice t-shirt, motionless and gawking. He … well, he stops doing that, snapping his face away and shoving his arms inside the white shirt.

“Puaaaa—“ Hinata is moaning, panting all the way inside, fanning himself with his hand, and Tsukishima makes a wise crack that Kageyama forcefully ignores. It’s not any of his business, he tells himself, and then proceeds to hear the words ‘strawberry’, ‘midget’, and ‘pudding’ anyway, followed by a frustrated shout. Curiosity overcomes him despite his best attempts; he takes an analyzing glance. Hinata strips off his shirt before he shakes a fist at Tsukishima, and then hides behind Kageyama when Daichi gives them both a meaningful look. His sweaty, tiny hands grip the fabric, pulling Kageyama alongside him as he squeaks in horror.

"Excuse me," the black-haired boy snaps, his voice going oddly high. Tsukishima almost falls over in his rush to look at him with this tiny little derisive smile, and, god damn it, can't that asshole give him a break already. It doesn't matter, in the end; Daichi slings a resigned arm around the blond's neck, dragging him out the club with promises to get practice started while they wait for the oddball duo.

Suga and the rest of the senpai wave as they follow a petrified Tsukishima, and then the door closes. Kageyama can hear their footsteps fading away, and then he realizes there’s nothing else he can focus on. He turns to look at Hinata, then, accepting his defeat. The smaller boy is hunched over his backpack, the skin of his back glistening slightly in the sunlight. Kageyama looks away, only to stop on the smaller boy's hands, fiddling with his zipper—

He gags quietly, looks away, gets dressed and stomps out the door. It’s sixteen minutes to practice but he’s in a rush, his shoulders tight and his hands shivering like they do before a game. Hinata trails after him, pulling his shorts up with an angry voice. They crackle loudly and he sheepishly takes a pack of gummy bears out of his pocket, as if only now reminded he’d stashed them there.

“What’s the big idea, _stuuupid_?” he says, but when Kageyama turns around to glare at him he notices Hinata’s smiling in that weirdly scared way he has, holding the bag up, and his frown softens minutely. “Do you want a gummy bear?”

“It’s—“ _about I can’t stop paying attention to everything, about how I try not to and fail, about how you funnel that concentration into yourself almost effortlessly and it_ bothers _me so much_ , is what Kageyama thinks, and this is what he spits out, eventually: “nothing.”

Hinata scrunches up his face like a two-day old balloon, all wrinkly and drooping, but thankfully mumbles all his complaints under his breath until they get to the gym, so Kageyama can pretend not to hear him. As usual, the smaller boy gets distracted by his urge to run laps faster than everyone else – Hinata likes being the first to handle a ball – and Kageyama is somewhat left to his own devices as he runs. Hinata’s calves turn harder when he skips, his ankle following the motion of his torso as it falls – and is right again picked up, springing higher than the net; Yamaguchi’s panting after him, freckled face cringing when Hinata slides out and _in_ again, a perfect display of athleticism given only to natural-born geniuses. The pivot is short and graceful and Yamaguchi slides on a sweaty plank, hits the floor chin-first. To the left, Kageyama thinks, eyes darting out to meet Suga’s, the senpai are talking. Daichi looks serious as he talks to Ukai-san in hushed tones, but Azumane and Nishinoya are playing around in the corner.

It’s not game related, Kageyama concludes, feeling the sweat drip down his back. His fingers are sweaty. He’d forgotten what it’s like, to practice in the summer, to feel the heat choking you down and making you wish you were lying in bed, your legs naked against the cool sheets, your head clear of anything but the soft whirr of the fan. It’s _good_ , he thinks, running a hand across his forehead, licking at his upper lip. It’s salty and wet and he heads for the bleachers, aiming for a water bottle.

Daichi and Ukai-san give him a look, one that sticks, and Kageyama thinks, _I’m fucked_.

* * *

“No,” Kageyama says flatly, “I have stuff to take care of, today.”

“It’s meat, meat, meat!” Hinata is singing loudly in the front, surrounded by a cheerful Tanaka and a smiling Suga. “I want to drown all my sorrows in food,” he adds, and the mood becomes chillier for a second, like winter’s returned just to remind them of its presence, but then the redhead grins wider, farther, “so let’s take this chance to strengthen our bonds!”

“What,” Tsukishima drolls, and is ignored by everyone else; they all cheer and clap Hinata on the back. His knees buckle a little (too much exertion, too little technique, polishing would increase his stamina), but he grins all the way to the store. Kageyama and Tsukishima follow grudgingly, both dealing with their rowdy teammates by pretending not to know them.

“It’s on me, this time,” Ukai-san says, and that’s when Kageyama gets it, and that’s when he notices everyone else is crying, too (Tsukishima doesn’t, but he’s too quiet, and Kageyama _knows_ it's just a matter of time). A conclusion is reached, after tense days of training in secret, of having a deep drive to move, always move, always practice, always _do_ something to get your mind out of the loss. _I was frustrated_ , he thinks, and that’s obvious, but – this is the extent of a true team. Kageyama wipes his eyes on his wrist inelegantly, gives the senpais a look, and then settles upon Hinata. _I’ll change,_ he adds, a promise to himself.

The other boy’s eyes flick to his like he knows he’s being searched, and there’s a beat. Hinata nods, his face bright and wet, his teeth slamming down on his lower lip. He looks terrible, all snot and rice, but Kageyama just nods back, sniffling back and grinding his fist against the table.

He sleeps easy that night; wakes up dizzy and warm-headed and sticky, a half-memory of a dream already slipping into the confines of his mind. He thinks back to Hinata’s hands, fisted in his shirt, his voice loud and angry, the grass under their hands and knees, the bitter feeling of defeat pushed back to make space for something else. Kageyama sits up on his bed, confused – he can’t remember.

* * *

The second gym is empty when he gets there, breathing hard and feeling tense. Day three – they could have been there and they’re not. Kageyama takes a ball, spins it in his fingers so fast it doesn’t stop when he hits it, and listens to the _smack_ it makes against his hand, against the floor, the wall. _We could have been there_ , Kageyama thinks, and despite whatever Hinata might say, despite absolutely no one in the team blaming him for being read so easily, _it’s my fault_. He grabs the ball, presses his hands around it, his nails digging into the skin. The rubber bladder inside it thins down to an oval.

He throws it in the air, and _hits_. The door opens with a groan, and he turns when the ball hits, finds Hinata’s heaving form. He looks determined, and that’s … good, right? Not as annoying as Kageyama could have thought, in the past.

He picks up the ball. Hinata receives it.

* * *

Kageyama gets home light-headed, short of breath, and absolutely fidgety. He’s tired, he’s exhausted, but he can’t stop picking out details out of his room, how empty and quiet it is, how hot it is despite his window being open and his hair still weighing damp and cool against his head. His lead pencil shakes inside his hand, and his handwriting is turning out even more terrible than ever, and suddenly it’s midnight and his homework is unfinished.

He looks at his lap, decides he’ll block it out of his mind afterwards, and slides his hand down his boxers. It’s a huffed, short thing, and he thinks of nothing in particular. Still, Kageyama thinks, reaching out for tissues, it’s better than nothing, right? His cell phone rings dully in the room, then, and Kageyama startles, hitting his knee on his desk and struggling to set it to silence. It’s a mail from Hinata, of course, asking him about practice – who else would manage to make him _this_ frustrated, at the fucking worst possible time –

His dick twitches, inside his hand.

“Ah,” Kageyama says curiously, his knee still aching, his breath fast. So that’s why.


	2. he’ll give you five good reasons to follow him

He wonders if Daichi’s known it for a while. It being – er, the sexual frustration, and hopefully not Kageyama’s … plight.

Whatever; at least now Kageyama knows what his senpai was talking about. And now that he _gets_ it, now that Kageyama finally understands why he’s been so wound up, Daichi’s mails are suddenly … something else. Relax, _right_ – god, how could he write that and then greet Kageyama with a straight face the next day? It’s really embarrassing to look at him during practice now, because how do you deal with your team captain telling you to masturbate?

At least, he thinks, sighing, they’re in an age where this kind of thing is understandable.

But then there’s the, uh. The thing.

The thing regarding Hinata.

That’s not as common. In the end, Kageyama’s just glad he’s not on Tanaka’s level, because getting hot and bothered over being ignored is laughable. Well, no. He guesses he understands, _kind_ of, if he really tries, but being ignored hits too close to home. If Hinata did that to him, those warm eyes breezing over him like he was nothing … _Just a control freak_ , Hinata had said, flippant, reminding Kageyama of his blank-eyed expression before games. _Well, shit_ , Kageyama thinks hotly, loosening his collar with tense fingers. His elbow hits his pencil case and he has to lurch forward to grab it.

His chair squeaks. A classmate tenses behind him and is ignored as Kageyama sits straight again, staring out the window.

They don’t have practice today, and it’s a pity. The air is pleasantly cool, a miracle among the grueling days of June, and he thinks about how easy it would be to breathe during laps. What a waste, he thinks, bringing up a hand to lean his chin on. The teacher notices him staring outside, though, so he’s fast to avert his eyes to his notebook.

Literature is his downfall. Math, he can almost handle – it’s to the point, logical, and it’s just about memorizing things – but literature … Ugh. He begins drawing lines down his notebook, and when he spots the teacher moving her visual attentions to her left, he returns to staring outside.

Hinata would definitely accept a casual practice session, if Kageyama asked; of this, he’s sure. But Kageyama doesn’t want to ask, not really. Talking to Hinata after jacking off with his cheerful face on his mind feels weird, like the other boy will see his reflection smeared in Kageyama’s darkest mental corners. He can’t, and Kageyama isn’t stupid enough to think Hinata will ever notice other people as easily as he does, but his senpai are surprisingly shrewd, and Kageyama’s deathly afraid of what Daichi and Suga might surmise from his behavior.

Okay, so, maybe he’s kind of glad there’s no practice today, after all.

It’s a tie – working off the tension in his shoulders, his back, the pit of his stomach, those are things he’s willing to put himself through hell for. But Daichi can be really, _really_ scary sometimes, and Kageyama’s still not managed to steel himself when it comes to him. After all, what matters the most is: what would Hinata think, what would Hinata do, what would the look on his face be like? He blushes easily, Kageyama knows, and looks at the sky, picturing it. Suga and Daichi have nothing on him; Kageyama is more than capable than being teased. But Hinata … Hinata would blush. Or maybe not? Maybe he wouldn’t even react, just brush Kageyama aside with a cool look and a smirk. Or maybe he’d lean in and kiss him.

Would it really be so bad, spending some more time with Hinata? It’s not like Daichi would lock them in a closet together, or something like that … but then again he’s proven not to have issues with forcing the first years into shitty situations. Kageyama stills on that one thought, picturing the gym closet and the way it smells like dust and plastic, wondering if Hinata and him could use the mattresses. _For – for practice_ , he corrects, feeling both gross and grossed out.

The bell rings as the teacher asks Kageyama to _please_ direct his attentions to the classroom already, and Kageyama flushes red, caught unaware. In the midst of the exiting students, though, no one notices but him and the teacher, who just sighs and tells him they’ll get to the nationals next time, so buck up already, okay? He nods, feeling warm and thankful, but also – also –

Hinata redirects his attention without even being there. The knowledge of it is heavy and it weighs him down as he shuffles in the empty classroom. He packs his bag in a rush, darts out the building, and is almost, almost free of the school’s confines when the tinier boy runs around the corner of the gym. Hinata notices him, waves cheerfully, and tells him to come practice, just a bit, while it’s this good outside, you know? Kageyama looks in the school gate’s general direction, swallows, and adapts.

“Yeah, ‘kay,” he says, shrugging, like he's not burning up inside.

* * *

“What is the big idea, everyone going home today,” Hinata’s grumbling, as the two of them run around the gym building. The girls have asked to use it, today; they have a practice game next week, or so Daichi had said. “It’s  _soooo_ good to run with this wind! Feels like you’re floating!”

Flying, is what Kageyama would’ve said. He still nods, starting to warm up, his calves straining when they cut the corners with sharp turns.

“So, are you all better, now?” the other boy asks, when he passes by Kageyama. His pivot is slower than Hinata’s, and it shows in the steps between them. “Ready for our grand _debut_?”

He sucks at English, and Kageyama does too, but he still wants to laugh at Hinata’s terrible accent. He doesn’t; instead he lets his eyes linger on Hinata’s shoulders, how they climb when he breathes in. They run by a half-open window and Kageyama picks up on girls’ voices, before the glass vanishes behind them with a sunny wink.

“Didn’t we already have that?”

“Shut up, we didn’t,” Hinata replies, looking over his shoulder to pout at Kageyama. Cute, he thinks, and then feels this urge to scrub himself with a metal brush and bleach. It’s not that he dislikes feeling mushy (he kind of does), but falling for their manager would at least make him typical; however, this is Hinata, and they argue all time, and Hinata is _so_ fucking annoying—

Well. Kageyama suspects that’s the reason why Hinata cuts so deep into his psyche, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. Or is it the other way around? Is that why he likes him? He blinks, and, for a single shameful moment, wonders if stocking up on shoujo manga would help him figure it out.

Hinata, in the front, continues to stare at him, and eventually misses the mark, and goes on ahead. Kageyama makes the corner, passing by him with the slightest of smirks, and Hinata flushes pink, indignant. He takes these small things so seriously, and it’s not like the rest of the team doesn’t (Tanaka, Nishinoya, even _Tsukishima_ , if bullied the right way), but … Hinata is more fun to watch. Kageyama looks ahead, feeling warm.

Kageyama’s never been the kind to be interested in girls, and it’s not like he’s the kind they’re interested in, either, so, like, what now? Is he just supposed to go through his entire volleyball high school experience with a debilitating crush on his favorite pawn? This wasn’t in his plans. His plans were about defeating Hinata again, grinding him into dust, make him taste that bitterness as many times as it took. Not about masturbating to him, not about wanting him – not about wondering if Hinata’s voice would be steady while ordering him around.

He swallows. Hinata zooms by him, blowing a raspberry, and Kageyama lets him. He’s hitting the ground with his toes, picking it up faster; the black-haired boy follows dutifully, catching onto the clouds of dust spitting from under Hinata’s soles, how they linger long after he’s gone on to create another.

It’s nighttime when they’re done – Kageyama insists that they don’t get too worn out, because they’re compensating tomorrow, and Hinata grumbles about it, but complies. It’s surprisingly easy, so much that Kageyama is almost _pleased_ , and then Hinata says, “hey, Kageyama,” in the exact same tone as the one from before, that tone that reduces all his being and skill to just his name, “what did you do to relax?”

He stops walking. There’s a soft breeze, but the night is warm, and even though he’s sweaty, Kageyama feels all but cold. They’re on their way home, walking together until the intersection by the bus stop, and the streets are empty. Hinata’s eyes look at him so clearly, so focused, that he feels as if he’s in the middle of a stage, under a spotlight that follows even the rise and fall of his chest. He swallows, brings the water bottle to his mouth, and thinks as he drinks.

“I masturbated,” Kageyama says flatly, after a pause, because, in the end, they’re both first years, they’re both boys, and because he can’t stop himself. The expectation to see Hinata flush pink and stammer is too large for his newly-discovered perversion. _So this is the true power of frustrated high-schoolers_ , Kageyama thinks dryly, half grossed-out, half bothered; _truly devastating_.

“What,” Hinata says instead, unconvinced, his brow furrowing, his head cocking (just ten degrees, this time), “that’s it?”

He then proceeds to exclaim his discontent with Kageyama, honestly, he’d thought maybe Kageyama had discovered this _amazing_ focusing technique, and they’d soar together through the highest roofs of the gyms throughout Japan, and—

Hinata talks too much, Kageyama thinks, staring at the other boy’s animated lips all the way home (secretly wishing for a sliver of tongue).

* * *

Kageyama gets home both completely exhausted and ready to run the mile. He rushes through a shower, inhales his dinner, and locks the door to his room before he thinks about Hinata’s casual voice, like they were two middle schoolers comparing dick sizes or whatever kids these days do,  _that’s it_ ?

He’s on his bed before he knows it. It’s cool and soft to the touch, but he knows it won’t stay that way for long. The knot of his pajama strings is easy to undo, and Kageyama’s fingers are quick, anyway. His window is open just an inch, the night air cooler than expected, and he hears faraway neighbors chatting. Kageyama closes his eyes, thinks of impossible tosses, thinks of oranges, of bringing a slice into his mouth. The noise fades.

_That’s it?_

He shoves his hands down his pajama shorts, feeling the sweat sticking between the fold of his knees, his toes curling. He hadn’t even stopped to act embarrassed, hadn’t even stopped to blush or say ‘ah’ in a high voice, he’d just looked disappointed – _that’s it?_ Kageyama had filled in the rest himself: _masturbation is your grandiose scheme for mental relief? You’re pathetic_.

Kageyama hisses thickly into his pillow. He’s drooling, so he closes his mouth, bites down and closes his eyes. A soft hum vibrates out of his throat and he tenses, listening, but continues anyway.

The lack of surprise had been demeaning, yes, but more than that – it had told Kageyama: Hinata does it too, or, Hinata has been doing it for a long time, and for the first time, you’re not better. The imagery is rich and colorful and it makes his mouth water. He turns his head to the ceiling and his hips rise without him asking them to.

 _That’s it?_ the Hinata in his head asks, staring up at Kageyama’s straining dick with a casual expression. Seconds later, it shifts to a resigned one, and the Hinata that doesn’t exist gets on his feet, stares down at him, the disinterested emptiness in his eyes reminiscent of his former teammates, and says, _well, I guess getting off to me is all you can do, huh?_

He comes with a hand on his watery mouth, and it feels bittersweet. Better, too, though that doesn’t surprise him.

* * *

“Well, well, someone slept sound tonight,” Tanaka says, wonder and jealousy present on those vowels. A warm, sticky,  _shameful_ feeling spreads around on Kageyama’s stomach as he closes the door to the club room. Suga and Daichi are distracted with each other, joking and chatting, and he exhales, relieved. Tanaka elbows him, but he sees it coming and avoids, glaring at him. “Did’ja finally finish all your homework, kouhai?”

“I wonder,” Tsukishima drones, from the bench, but Kageyama picks up on how it’s the bespectacled boy who turns to look at him, and he hikes his chin, narrowing his eyes in challenge.

“Your socks are mismatched,” Kageyama shoots back, passing by with a smirk, and Tsukishima sneers under his breath, reaching out to pull on them. Kageyama feels light on his feet, ready to sit on the world’s throne, and then Hinata emerges from behind Daichi, holding his shirt in his hands. Kageyama feels his jaw tighten as he struggles with surprise – he’s always the last to show up, always the last to open that door, so _why_ —

“It’s about time you showed up,” Hinata accuses, pointing a finger at him. His arms are small, but they’re firm, tight, like they’re ready to release a spike on Kageyama’s nose. The black-haired boy looks at his finger, licks his lips, and then remembers he’s supposed to hit Hinata. He does. “Ow! What the heck’s that for!”

“You’re always the last one here,” Kageyama chides, and his voice sounds less annoyed than usual. What’s his usual pitch? His normal glare? He shifts his mouth lower, looks at Hinata harder, and the other boy recoils. Good, he thinks, feeling a wave of satisfaction wash over him. Daichi moves his head just so, and Kageyama notices him staring out of the corner of his eye. “Get in gear already, dumbass,” he adds, harsher, and Hinata squeals and shoves his head up his shirt, his stomach tightening when he shouts.

Daichi’s still staring. He doesn’t seem to mind that Kageyama’s noticed, and the younger boy doesn’t know how to deal with it, so he just turns to his locker, feeling the back of his neck heat, his face, his hands. The metal is cool and hard against his palm, and he only turns away when he’s sure he can get away with his expression. The rest of the team goes on ahead, save for Daichi, who is still tying his sneakers; Suga gives him a warning look, like he’s pleading, and then, before he closes the door, he sends an encouraging smile in Kageyama’s direction.

Kageyama stills.

No freaking way. He closes his locker and runs, headed for the door –

“Where are you going, Kageyama-kun,” Daichi asks, all gentle and soft, and Kageyama shivers so bad he almost loses his balance. God, that’s so fucking creepy. “Leaving your own team captain behind, that’s cold.”

“N-No, I wasn’t,” he lies shakily.

Daichi abandons his façade for a sigh, sitting back and looking at Kageyama seriously. It makes him relax, just so, and he drops the knob of the door. Outside, it’s quiet, though he hears the shouting from the tennis club girls, who always end their practice before theirs even starts. Must be nice, Kageyama thinks, expression curdling like milk, having a field just for them.

“Focus, Kageyama,” Daichi cuts in, and he does, breaking down the club room into pieces until all that’s left is Daichi, his serious brow, his arms crossed over, his posture straight. If he blocks out the tennis team, outside, he thinks he might be able to hear Daichi breathing. “If you can’t focus on the game, you aren’t valuable.”

Something inside him breaks, and he takes a step back, surprised, but Daichi’s already snorting, unable to continue. His left hand rests at his stomach, patting it, and he’s grinning. Sometimes, Daichi can be cruel, is what Kageyama thinks, without even realizing it – that’s the scariest part. He wipes his hands on his shorts.

“Just kidding,” he says, chuckling and waving dismissively at him, “who do you take me for? I just wanted to say,” the captain adds, smiling as he picks up his bag, “if you need a hand with, um—“

“That’s okay,” Kageyama cuts in, horrified, trying to disappear into the wall. Daichi looks confused, for a beat, and then his eyes go wide and his face goes through a process no one should ever have to witness again. Kageyama’s large, terrified eyes move quickly away from his captain’s and settle in the furthest away point possible. Some chairs, some forgotten shirts; yes, he notes with an excessive attention, objects are safe and will never give him nightmares. Objects are good.

“Kageyama-kun,” Daichi starts, voice surprisingly pleasant despite the thousand-yard-stare, “don’t ever, ever assume I am interested in helping you m—”

Hinata darts in, screaming about practice starting already, and slamming the door open right in Kageyama’s face. He goes down smiling, almost teary-eyed, thinking: thank you, Hinata.

* * *

Hinata takes him home despite Kageyama’s protests. Granted, they are half-hearted (he only glares at the tinier boy twice), and Hinata probably feels guilty for injuring Kageyama anyway; so he remains, animated over not bruising his knees today, over how Izumi just bought the new game that’s topping all the charts, over how glad Kageyama seemed to be when he passed out on the floor.

“Yeah, _that_ was weird,” he’s saying, and giving Kageyama a squinty look, his face invading the space around his. Kageyama pushes him away with a scoff, mentally noting he smells of fruity candy, and then brings a hand to his face. It’s bruised, on one side, and he wonders how long it’ll take for him to get back to normal. It’s still a small price to pay; a blessing from above, almost. Today, Kageyama thinks seriously, someone was looking out for me.

“Sawamura-senpai was about to scold me,” is what he confesses eventually, and from the shell-shocked look on Hinata’s face, he knows the other boy gets it.

“Alright!” Hinata replies, all fire and determination, his tiny fist closed, “then doesn’t that mean you owe me? It does! It totally _, totally_ does! Hell yes!”

“What,” Kageyama says, flat, his stare dull. Hinata frowns and he mimics it, his eyes sharper than Hinata’s round ones. “Literally what the hell are you talking about.”

“Well, isn’t it obvious? I saved your ass!” Like it’s obvious, like Kageyama should have immediately bowed down and prostrated at his feet, maybe even licking them – oh my god, Kageyama thinks, revolted with himself, a hand pinching the bridge of his warm nose. “If it wasn’t me, you’d have another childhood trauma to deal with,” he adds, bold and insensitive and side-eyeing Kageyama like he’s the one who’s wrong. Kageyama feels his stomach curl in disgust at the thought that this is his first love. This – this _person_.

“I’m going to murder you one day,” Kageyama promises, in a hiss, and Hinata doesn’t tense, this time, just smiles and grabs Kageyama by the sleeve of his jersey. It’s not delicate, and when Hinata starts running Kageyama almost, almost falls flat on his face (again), but then the smaller boy pulls up without thinking, the gesture easy and reflexive, and lets Kageyama find his balance with wobbly steps. They run – and Kageyama realizes, upon reaching Ukai-san’s store, that he could’ve stopped at any time, but here they are anyway.

He isn’t sure of how that makes him feel, but then Hinata buys him a pack of those stupid gummy bears he always ends up eating, and Kageyama permits himself a break, enjoying the moment without thinking too much.

Then he gets home, and finally thinks back to how unfocused Hinata makes him. Thinks about how he’s already figured out that Hinata is the kind of person to grow freckles in the summer, how they’re thinner than Yamaguchi’s but still there. Thinks back to how Hinata plays with the bears inside his mouth, tonguing them until they dissolves. Thinks back to how he can’t remember the face of a single person that passed by them, but already knows the candy package’s calories’ chart by heart.

He sits on the bed, uses his hands to hold his head until he tires of it, and then lets them move down.

Afterwards, he eats a gummy bear, an orange one, lets it dissolve in his mouth, and saves the rest of the bag for another time.


	3. on the other hand,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter has spoilers for ch. 85 onwards (aka training camp)!!!! also um please mind the edited rating ahh … (´w`’,)
> 
> watch out for huge sentences too idk how to use full stops sorry

They’re going to Tokyo. Time passes like it’s flying on a private jet, first class; they get a new manager and almost die from exhaustion (Kageyama’s not touching another literature book for a month, he doesn’t care). But they’re going to Tokyo, despite … some previous technical difficulties. They’re _going_ , and Kageyama’s feeling energetic, always moving, always fidgeting. He should’ve brought something to do while he gets used to the car, to the noises. He’ll sleep, eventually, unlike –

“Final exams,” a snoozing Hinata is moaning, face scrunched up in horror where it meets the car seat. Kageyama is in the back, glaring at him – they’ve only been driving for five minutes. How does someone fall asleep so fast? Sometimes, Kageyama just. What the _hell_. He looks out the window, watching the landscape, aware of Tanaka’s sister’s eyes on him through the rearview mirror. They’re sharp, sharper than Tanaka’s, probably because of the make-up. Saeko is much prettier, though, in a wild, rebellious way, and Kageyama feels a little nervous until he realizes how alike the two of them are. That gets him to unwind a little, to slouch slightly, to forget about her and slide his gaze into Hinata’s sleeping face again. “No,” the boy groans, looking half-way into crying. Should Kageyama wake him up, or—

“Huh,” Saeko says, like she’s finally understood an equation, and Kageyama straightens, fidgets, and drinks up the green pines outside like he’s parched. Tanaka’s sister doesn’t add anything else, but she’s smiling as she swirls her lollipop around in her mouth (he can see her through the side mirror, and then stops, because that’s creepy).

He feels like it takes him hours to fall asleep. When he does, he sleeps peacefully and calmly for a while, until Hinata, the boy who has no volume control enabled, wakes up.

 _I’m going to fucking kill this shorty,_ Kageyama thinks, surreptitiously wiping at the drool on his cheek as he listens to the conversation.

* * *

They get to Tokyo; everything goes to shit. Time passes like it’s been nailed to the floor by its toes. They get into several bad fights over Hinata’s startling hunger for power, start working alone instead, and it makes practice feel tense instead of exciting. It makes him think of Kitagawa Daiichi’s cold discomfort, makes him relive that one fatal, unattended toss. Kageyama trains as hard as he can, just to get his mind off things.

They’re not the only ones in a slump, though: Kageyama especially notices the strain around Tsukishima, who has grown increasingly introverted, and Yamaguchi, who looks at a loss for a long time – if only because he needs to clear his head from the fact that being alone is … suddenly weird. Kageyama has never noticed how much time he spends around Hinata, or, rather – has never truly acknowledged it, but he does now.

He spends his practices in resigned silence, answering back to anyone who isn’t Hinata, and Hinata does the same, chatting happily and grinning at anyone who isn’t Kageyama. Between them, there’s only strained apologies for a missed pass or for a blunder, and it’s not enough. But Kageyama won’t give in – he already feels stupidly affected by his feelings for the shorty, and he’s not going to let him get away with something like this, too.

 _I’m the one who lets you win_ , is what he thinks, when it’s the evening and everyone’s conversing in their futons, dutifully ignoring the icy breeze between Kageyama and Hinata.

 _That toss isn’t what I want_ , is what he remembers listening, when he’s wide awake in the wee hours of the morning, replaying Hinata’s commandeering voice, the exasperation on his face.

 _Not what I **want** ,_ Hinata had said, underlining the word with a tilt of his chin. Like he’d been talking to a rebellious underclassman, or like a king admonishing a meager lordling. No matter how much he tries, he can’t stop it, not when there’s nothing but his teammate’s steady breaths to distract him. Even after they perfect it, even after they’re back in business, that one line, that one time, that one expression – it’s all Kageyama can think about. The lack of privacy makes it hard on him, but the regained easiness between him and Hinata is sweeter than coming to thoughts of him, and he manages. He always does.

Up until the point where he doesn’t.

* * *

Hinata sleeps like the rowdy, childish little shit that he is, a leg tossed outside of his futon and an arm thrown up, leaning against Yamaguchi’s sleeping head; Kageyama finds this out by accident, when he is headed to the bathroom after yet another lousy night.

It’s almost their last dawn here. The morning outside is just barely starting, and it’s pleasantly cool and bright; the orange of Hinata’s hair looks a lighter shade, more pallid, like he’s an old painting and the oils are already thinning out into nothing. Kageyama hates that he stares, at his hair first and at his legs later, one tossed over Tanaka, the other also sprawled under the futon. They’re well-defined, though skinny, and then Hinata flexes, lazily kicking at Tanaka’s stomach. Yamaguchi snores in alarm when Hinata rustles about, holding onto his pillow tighter.

Their senpai groans sleepily, and then turns on his side, and Kageyama lets out a breath that he doesn’t remember holding. Hinata’s foot falls off Tanaka’s side and hits the white of his futon, relaxed. Kageyama can almost listen to the rustle of the fabric if he pictures it, so he straightens up and quickly marches out of the room, shoulders stiff.

He takes a sweeping look around the bathroom before he walks in, making sure he’s alone. Sometimes he needs a break, a silent minute or fifty, and sharing his space with rowdy high school boys twenty-four-seven doesn’t help him attain any peace and quiet. He turns to the sink, relieved. The tap water is cool, a little _too_ cool, and Kageyama breathes in through his mouth, rubbing at his face until it stings.

The water splashes inside the basin; he turns the handle on the faucet and leans against the counter, suppressing a yawn. He doesn’t look particularly tired, and that’s good, he thinks, analyzing himself on the mirror. But he looks tense, all tight movements and closed-off expressions. The team has grown to know him well, and it’s too obvious if one cares to look. You dumbass, Kageyama almost tells himself, but his jaw locks when a familiar face walks inside the bathroom, rubbing at his eyes.

“Ah,” Kageyama says, in the middle of pulling down the skin of his cheeks. Hinata squints at him drowsily, smoothing down his shirt over his boxers as he yawns (Kageyama controls himself and doesn’t look – at least not more than once; it’s more than enough to commit to memory), and then grins, mimicking the print on his shirt. A mascot character, its smile hiccupping over the taut fabric.

“That look suits you better than your usual face,” he says, snorting, distracting Kageyama from taking another glance at his boxers, and then runs into the closest stall when Kageyama hisses at him, pissed off, his hands shooting down to his hips and closing. The door slams closed in Kageyama’s face, but he’d expected it, and he’s ready.

“That one has no paper,” Kageyama says, smirking, because for some reason he noticed the broken paper container when he first walked in, the plastic lying in shards in the floor. Hinata squawks, surprised, and then fidgets. Probably – Kageyama can’t see him, since he’s leaning on the door. “How long can you last without going?”

“You’re not that cruel,” Hinata says in horror, voice tiny and – kind of hot, to be honest. Kageyama brings a hand to his face, but doesn’t let up on the door. Hinata tests it, once, then twice, and then stops. “Kageyama,” he starts, awkwardly dignified, “we can get past this.”

“Speaking of passing – I wonder how much time has passed already,” is what he replies, voice casual. Hinata whimpers and it goes straight to his dick. He blinks.

“I need paper,” Hinata says, the sound of his slapping steps indicating he’s hopping from one foot to another. “Don’t do this to a teammate. I’ll – I’ll do whatever you say, just— _toilet_ ,” he adds, his voice higher, and Kageyama is just a mess, pressing his hand into his mouth contemplatively. The floor of the bathroom is clean, reflecting the white lights above, and he enjoys watching the bright squares gliding when he moves his head. He _firmly_ doesn’t think of this situation. He also firmly can’t believe this is happening. His stomach is hot and his chest feels tight.

“Should’ve considered it before,” Kageyama says, too softly, and Hinata smacks his hands against the door with a strength previously unknown to Kageyama. It makes him lurch forward and then backwards, his shoulder blades digging into the wood. “What the _fuck_!” he exclaims, before leaning over to snake his arms around, trying to soothe the pain. Hinata pushes – no, he realizes, _kicks_ the door again, and it takes all of Kageyama’s composure not to cry out when the door smacks him against his ass, but he still can’t smother a hitched breath as he falls. His knees hit the floor at the same time his hands do, and he blesses his reflexes before he sees Hinata’s face in the mirror above him. He’s holding onto the walls of the stall for balance, his shirt almost hanging off his shoulder, his foot still in the air. The mirror ends inches above his raised thigh and Kageyama dimly remembers he’s wearing boxers, and if only Hinata were taller –

He refocuses, bringing his head up minutely as he watches. Hinata hasn’t noticed the mirror yet, and he’s staring at Kageyama open-mouthed, face livid and pink. His brown eyes flicker down and Kageyama’s eyes are so wide they’re gonna fall out, he’s sure, but he doesn’t give two shits about that. Because he _sees_ it, he sees pink and wet when Hinata licks his lips.

Kageyama gets to his feet so fast he almost sets himself to receive a ball; he’s never moved this quickly outside a game. His shoulders hitch, uptight, and he turns to look at Hinata. The smaller boy squeaks, terrified, but Kageyama is faster for once, Hinata’s god-like reflexes be damned, and he slams his hands on either side of the stall before Hinata can flee. Hinata backtracks, legs hitting the toilet; he sits on it tremblingly, already raising his hands in prayer.

“Hinata-kun,” Kageyama says, thinking back to Daichi, how the impeccable use of an honorific strikes fear into the hearts of people who know their life is ending, “just now,” and he leans inside the stall slowly, his fingers whitening at the knuckles when he closes them around the jambs, “where were you looking at?”

"Eep," the other boy squeaks. Pink fades into dark red and Hinata closes his eyes, wrapping his arms around his head. He’s chanting Buddhist mantras, and Kageyama has to bite his lip to prevent from kissing him. He would, he _would_ kiss him, right now, right here. A sigh – _easy_ , he thinks, breathing out. He relaxes his hands, just so, because they’re starting to ache. The painted wood groans in reply, so softly Kageyama is sure he's the only one who hears it.

“Answer me,” Kageyama presses, voice too urgent for his liking; the other boy doesn’t notice, fidgeting for a second.

“I was – I was kind of maybe sort of looking at your ass, _okay_ , now let’s drop this, and – and it’s your fault for waving it around like that anyway!” Hinata hisses finally, eyes closed and mouth wide, and Kageyama feels his knees quiver. He holds onto the stall for balance, feeling faint. Hinata closes his knees, then, his bare foot sliding against the plastic on the floor. They clatter in tinny whispers and Kageyama thinks, _oh_ , when he sees the erection inside Hinata’s boxers. So that’s why he needed the toilet so bad? Fuck. _Fuck_.

There’s a beat. Kageyama is fighting himself on the matter of dicks when he picks up on a faraway shuffling sound. At first, he halts, picking up on it instinctively, and then he remembers – Nishinoya’s brought his house slippers with him (sometimes, Kageyama wonders about the kind of teammates he’s got). Kageyama inhales sharply, looks at Hinata’s erection, at the boy’s brown, doe-eyed gaze, and steps inside the stall, closing the door behind him. The lock chimes dully behind his hand, and then he realizes the implications of his move.

 _Why the fuck didn’t I just step out,_ he shouts at himself, bringing his hands to his face in defeat. Hinata’s are still gripping onto the toilet seat, tense; he can see them through his fingers.

“Oy,” Kageyama whispers, because that’s what he always says when he needs Hinata to pay attention in practice, and it works. Hinata looks up immediately, on instinct, and though he looks surprised to do so, he doesn’t look away. Nishinoya is whistling as he walks in, and then there’s a squeak, and the sound of rushing water. Kageyama brings a finger to his mouth, and even though he’s shaking all over, Hinata just nods, shoulders risen. His brown eyes are wide and expectant: Hinata is never scared when he should be. It’s amusing, and Kageyama feels a pull at his mouth. His hand darts out to cover it – a smile would break the tension, would alleviate it, and he wants to use it.

Okay. Kageyama purses his lips instead; they’re dry, and they make it hard to say things. His throat, too. Kageyama still manages, as always. Be sharper, he thinks, be faster, be better. He swallows, then points at Hinata’s boxers, and the other boy raises his knees protectively, averting his gaze with a sudden head movement again. Kageyama leans in, grabs his shoulder, then his knee. He presses it down, and Hinata’s eyes find his, confused brown greeting uncertain black.

Kageyama gives Hinata’s leg a squeeze, then, and Hinata’s spine straightens so hard the smaller boy almost loses his balance. Kageyama holds him there, though, averts his fall, and sighs in relief – Nishinoya is easily distracted, oblivious, and he’s just woken up. Kageyama has leverage. Absolute control. He opens his mouth.

“Touch yourself,” Kageyama whispers, so quietly he thinks Hinata reads his lips instead of listening. The flush on his face is a slow burn, reaching a pitch of crimson. Kageyama bites his lip, nervous, and Hinata follows it with his eyes as he nods. Nishinoya’s splashing water in the sink closest to the door, singing something under his breath, and Kageyama mutes him out without even realizing it, staring at the path Hinata’s hands are trailing down.

The smaller boy lifts his shirt with a distracted hand, his eyes wide and glancing down, but loses his nerve when he finally reaches the elastic band of his boxers.

“Nishinoya-senpai is right _there_ ,” is what his exasperated expression says, because his mouth is tight and quiet. Kageyama ignores him, leaning in and urging him on with a nod of his chin (mentally noting down that Hinata’s only issue with jacking off in front of Kageyama is that Nishinoya is feet away). Hinata gets this _look_ on his face for a second, something like Tsukishima’s most irritated glare, and then it’s gone, because Kageyama needs to withdraw it out of him. He plans on doing that, eventually, just not here, in a communal bathroom where Nishinoya is humming the Doraemon theme song. This is just – foreplay. Literally and figuratively. This is just because Kageyama wants Hinata, regardless of it being the way he thinks he might like it or not.

“Hinata,” Kageyama whispers again, and then kneels on the floor in front of him, his hand still on Hinata’s thigh. His knees are unsteady – they’ve always been knobby, bony, and they hurt when he puts all his weight on them, the bathroom tile unforgiving, but Kageyama looks at Hinata, and it’s worth it.

That brief look of superiority slides by Hinata’s face again, only this time it’s pleased and dirty and Kageyama shivers, fingers digging into the smaller boy’s thigh. Hinata _definitely_ smiles then, hips raising briefly, like he’s telling Kageyama to come closer. Nishinoya’s steps shuffle about again, and Kageyama tenses, looking over his shoulder just to make sure their senpai won’t notice their feet under the stall. He doesn’t; he fades out with a quiet click of a lock and yawn, and that’s when Hinata places his other leg on Kageyama’s shoulder, forcing his attentions away from the tiled floor.

He swallows, eyes flitting all the way over to where Hinata’s boxers hang off his leg, too large, the darkness inside frustrating him. Kageyama leans his head to see, and Hinata closes his knees again, an uncertain smile on his face.

“Hey, Kageyama,” he says, a little breathy but cheerful otherwise, “for how long have you wanted to do this?”

Kageyama glares at him, his fingers running up his thigh until they hook around Hinata’s boxers. His hips wiggle up again, and Kageyama’s salivating a lot, all of a sudden. The elastic band slides down, just enough for Hinata’s hipbones to pop out, and then Kageyama stops. Hinata gives him a look between frustrated and embarrassed, so Kageyama attempts the first cue:

“Don’t talk,” he says, his voice serious but still shaky, “unless I tell you to.”

A beat. His stomach curls, as jittery as his hands, even as they hold onto Hinata’s boxers. Hinata seems to evaluate the situation, looking half-offended and half-wanting, and then frowns, using his leg to bring Kageyama’s head closer.

“Ehh? Why the heck should I?” is his reply, low and soft but somehow full of steel. He closes his eyes as he leans in, his leg curling around Kageyama’s neck, his dick closer and closer, and Kageyama’s nails are so, so close to digging into his ass. Inches away from Kageyama’s face, Hinata opens his eyes, and they’re focused and half-lidded. _I’m not going to lose_ , they tell him, and Kageyama sucks in a breath before Hinata kisses him, harsh and inexperienced, their noses bumping and their teeth clicking hard enough for Kageyama to pull back, making a face. Hinata leans back, then, back against the porcelain reservoir, and it strikes Kageyama again that they’re in a bathroom and that he’s more than okay with it, if it means having Hinata.

He breathes in, and when he sighs Hinata twitches, leg tightening around his neck.

“Kageyama,” he says, staring down at Kageyama like he’s fantasized about it before, “I’m not going to let you control this, too. This isn’t volleyball. You’re not better than me at this. So – ”

Hinata presses his hand against Kageyama’s head; Kageyama opens his mouth, shaking, and lets him.


	4. you see nobody leaving the stadium;

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok here it is. ladies, gentlemen, non-binary folk: the porn. (jazz hands) i’d also like to take the time to thank u all for ur comments and kudos! this is my first time writing for haikyuu and im still not sure what im doing so u guys are all v. appreciated!!!

“Mm,” is the sort of low and humming sound that slips out of Hinata’s bared throat as his head falls back. Kageyama’s face is burning, and he’s struggling with the thought that he’s sucking Hinata’s dick, he’s _actually_ giving a blowjob and it’s because he _wants_ to, but his eyes don’t let up. He watches Hinata’s as his throat quivers, as he eases into Kageyama’s mouth just an inch, or maybe just half that, and Kageyama’s hands shoot down to hold him by the thighs. Hinata doesn’t notice; in fact, Hinata doesn’t seem to notice anything at all, his open mouth facing the ceiling of the bathroom as his back arches deeper into Kageyama’s mouth.

He gags, then, just slightly, enough to pull back and regain himself. Hinata makes a disappointed noise and Kageyama feels immediately irritated, so he licks him instead of breathing in, a thing flat and wide. Hinata moans, his hand fisting chunks of Kageyama’s hair and pulling down. The heat spreads across his face, more intense than the sun smacking down on them when they run their afternoon laps. Hinata still doesn’t look at him and it makes him want to do better, so he does, hollowing out his cheeks and sucking.

For the first time in his life, he’s actively glad he’s watched porn before. The thought is gross and he’s _feeling_ gross (a side-effect he’s already learned to associate with Hinata), and if it weren’t for the breathy sounds coming out of Hinata’s mouth, he would probably walk out and brush his teeth with bleach. But Hinata is here, and Hinata’s legs are twitching as they rest on his shoulders, and Kageyama only opens his mouth wider.

“K-Kageyama,” Hinata warns then, all soft, his eyes closed. Not enough, Kageyama thinks without meaning to, and keeps at it until he has to part for wheezing gasps of breath. His face is so, so warm. “Why’d you stop,” the other boy adds, a little urgent, his head cocked to the side, his eyes finally half-lidded. Kageyama wants him to look like that forever.

“I was thinking,” Kageyama says slowly, and hates that his voice shakes, because this is _it_ , “that you could – you could tell me what to do? It’s not like I’ve done this before,” he adds, because he’s a coward, because he can’t admit to Hinata that he thinks he might enjoy getting pushed around and ordered. Not yet, at least.

He’s not sure this will stick, but Hinata’s eyes glaze over anyway, and Kageyama’s hips twitch in retaliation. His palm hovers the undone strings of his pajama shorts, a tentative question, and Hinata’s smile is so wide and so terrifying Kageyama’s half-sure he’s going to come if he doesn’t look away. Well. He looks away, then, meets the floor, fidgets and frowns until Hinata recovers. The other boy doesn’t shy away; instead, he leans in, his right hand still fisted in Kageyama’s hair. He looks like he’s giving Kageyama the go-ahead, and this makes his skin crawl with prickling heat. The toilet lid, under Hinata’s ass, squeaks when he adjusts his position.

“What do you mean?” the redhead asks. Kageyama glares at him, ready to call him a fucking dumbass, but the look on Hinata’s face is only impassive, the quiver of his throat obvious when he holds his chin like that. A shiver wrecks across his spine, rinsing it tight and straight.

“You know exactly—“ he starts, already angry, and then bites his lip, closes his eyes. Hinata’s thumb smoothes down his brow at the same time he laughs, something cute and secretive. His chest caves in and rebuilds itself alongside the pad of Hinata’s thumb and it takes Kageyama a considerable amount of effort not to lean into his hand. That would be too much, at least for now, and he doesn’t, instead pulling his warm face away.

“You’re so _easy_ , Kageyama,” Hinata teases, but there’s no edge, just that feeling of inadequacy and impatience. He doesn’t seem to be particularly disturbed over the fact Kageyama is sucking his dick, nor does he seem to have any issue with presenting it to him. “I would’ve never taken you for a pervert. You really don’t look the part! You’re pretty good at this, too. Have you been practicing in secret?”

Shit. Kageyama’s dick twitches and his hips lurch forward ever so subtly, his throat tight. He wants to masturbate, wants to wrap his hands around his dick and let Hinata watch him come undone. Hinata’s dick, conversely, is still smack in front of his face, standing proud, and the redhead looks almost _at ease_ ; Hinata’s never been shy, not really, but this is – this is – isn’t this too much? How does someone who can’t talk to their manager without fainting manage to do this? He’s almost exasperated over it, but instead of complaining Kageyama just licks his lips, listens to the soft rustle of fabric when his fingers drag across Hinata’s boxers.

“Okay,” Hinata says, then, that intimidating look splattered on his face again like he can turn it off and on at will, like Kageyama doesn’t know Hinata’s is a coward sometimes, like the first time they met and he reacted just the same. Around his hair, Hinata’s fingers close. “Okay, then, Kageyama. You can go on, then. Just, do whatever, I guess? Yeah. Do whatever you want. Isn’t that what you always do?”

Kageyama does, ignoring the stupid jab that makes him want to suck harder. His breathing is level when he takes it, mouth closing around Hinata’s dick. He’s not a fan of porn, not really, but he’s only a high school student, and he’s watched enough to know what he’s supposed to do. Giving head is harder than it looks, though, and he feels frustrated as he tries; if he reaches in too much, he’ll feel like he’s just shoved his toothbrush into that one spot where it makes him want to barf his guts out, but when he pulls back to rest he feels like he’s making an even stupider face, so. Shit. He looks up, his fingers holding back Hinata’s hips when the other boy tries to grind into his mouth.

“Take your hands off— _mm_ —,” Hinata whines, eyes closed and face flushed, twisted into a pitiful expression. Kageyama’s dick is stupid hard, pressing up against his underwear, and if Hinata weren’t so focused on coming he’d have noticed by now. As it is, he doesn’t, and Kageyama takes his hands off Hinata’s sides, curling and uncurling them by the toilet lid instead. This is rock bottom, Kageyama realizes, and sucks harder without meaning to when the full implications of what they’re doing sink in. “Do that again,” Hinata says, like he’s Kageyama’s classmate and he needs a pencil, would you be so kind as to do that, Kageyama?

Fucking hell.

Kageyama has never been kind, and if this were about a pencil, he would’ve elbowed Hinata in the face. But it’s not; he closes his eyes instead, and sucks, until Hinata’s trembling fingers close around his hair again. His skinny legs are hoisted on Kageyama’s shoulders, shaking, and Kageyama holds them there without Hinata asking, just to make sure the other boy isn’t going to fall off. He would laugh if he did, but the noise would indubitably wake someone up, and Kageyama wants this to last, in the end. His dick is going crazy and he grabs Hinata’s legs hard. His mouth is tight around Hinata’s dick, and when he breathes in, Hinata’s feet twitch, behind his head. Kageyama’s not being as good at following orders as he thought he would be, but the truth is: he wants to hold his own dick instead, wants to come too, wants to feel Hinata’s weight on top of him, pinning him down with tiny wrists and legs, no, pinning him down with nothing but the threat of his voice. Yes, Kageyama would, that’s what he thinks; he would let Hinata do almost anything, just –

“K-Kag—come—“ Hinata says then, his voice a breathy whisper and his hips shaking into Kageyama’s mouth. “Coming, coming, _coming_ ,” he’s whining, eyes bright and half-lidded, struggling to keep on Kageyama’s. His face looks flushed but he’s grinning; Kageyama’s is just hot and mortified. Hinata is looking, now, looking down at Kageyama at the same time he’s shivering all over. “I’m gonna—“

Hinata’s still looking down at him, and Kageyama looks back though his eyes feel heavy. _Fine_ , he thinks, mind a little too hazy, too hot, his jaw sore; _so come, dumbass._

Hinata does.

“Mmnn—!” he moans, his teeth biting down on his lower lip in a way that must definitely hurt, his eyes rolling back in a way that would have Kageyama snorting, if he weren’t the cause of it. Like this, it’s just hot and fucked out, not stupid, and Kageyama takes his time, holding off the other boy’s orgasm until Hinata tries to push him off with unsteady, embarrassed hands. Hinata comes with a shitty rendition of Kageyama’s name, wheezing and arching his back as his hips push against the air. Kageyama watches it all, dumbfounded, his dick twitching desperately, like it wants to join the party. Kageyama wants it to, as well, but … Hinata’s right here and he’s busy with him, now.

He touches at his sticky cheek, makes a face, and promises to repay Hinata in the future, feeling disgusted. A good kind of disgust, though, the kind people get looked at funnily, smirkingly, when they admit they enjoy it. He swallows.

His stomach is so tight, it twitches when he moves. He tries to block it, tries looking at Hinata for a distraction. It works: Hinata’s catching his breath, looking pink and dizzy, but somehow also focused. His brown eyes pause on Kageyama’s cheek, dripping with his come, and then he swallows, finally fearful. The shift is obvious, and Kageyama feels disappointed, but he figures it’s impossible, after all. They catch their breath; Kageyama rises to his feet, his knees red and marked with the lines of the tiled floor, and looks down at Hinata for a beat. He’s so hard it almost hurts; the other boy, on the other hand, looks incredibly satisfied.

 _I just need one word_ , is what he thinks, resisting the urge to shift his nervous weight from one foot to another. _One word and I’ll –_

“Ah, um,” is what Hinata says, eyes fleeing from Kageyama’s dirty face and avoiding his straining pajama shorts, “s-sorry. But at least I didn’t get it in your eye!”

Oh my _god_. He sighs. The disappointment is bitter in a way Kageyama won’t be able to utilize in the future; this sort of humiliation doesn’t (completely) get him off. He still just shrugs, making to open the door and wash his face, but Hinata’s hand wraps around his wrist, and he stops mid-step.

“Just, could you _wait_ ,” Hinata adds, his voice annoyed (with _no_ reason at all, considering the previous events, what the fuck), “just. Stop.”

Kageyama does, too aware of his hard-on, too aware that Hinata’s palm is warm and a little sticky, too aware he doesn’t know how he’s going to survive the rest of the day without wanting to fall to bits. Hinata drops his hand, then, wipes it on his shirt, and gets up from the toilet, tucking his dick back into his boxers. Kageyama looks away, feeling flushed and stupid, and then Hinata’s hands are pulling him down onto the toilet lid and he walks out the stall.

Kageyama tenses, alert, staring into the empty bathroom. Did he just – leave?

But Hinata has returned not even half a minute later, his hand wrapped around toilet paper. Kageyama’s chest feels warm and he hates it, so he glares at Hinata before snatching the tissue away.

“I’m washing my face,” he replies dryly, walking out past him and shoving the papers in the closest garbage can. Hinata doesn’t say anything, just gives Kageyama a look that makes his scalp tingle. In the mirror, he faces himself with a grim expression, attempting not to look at his cheek and failing spectacularly. Fuck, he thinks, wondering if the bathroom is somehow heated because – “Dumbass,” Kageyama adds breathily, and Hinata’s whole body twitches. His eyes are serious, though, Kageyama can see them in the mirror, deep and focused.

“I already said I’m sorry,” Hinata replies sternly, when Kageyama’s eyes are closed, and the splash of water is loud. He turns the faucet to a close, inspects the skin of his face for a second and then directs his gaze to Hinata, scratching at his head in the background. “Kageyama, this – this is like,” he struggles, turning pink in the pale light, “um, a confession?” Then, upon noticing the twitch of Kageyama’s right eye, he straightens, dipping into a full-blown red: “S-So, so let me make it up to you!” he shouts, then, and Kageyama feels himself match the color on Hinata’s skin.

There’s a beat. Kageyama listens to the water rushing down the drain, wipes his face on his sleeve and his hands on his pants, and then clears his throat. There’s a shuffling sound faraway that he blocks out; his heart is fast and loud and it’s enough to bear.

“O-Okay,” he stammers, voice as tight as his stomach, and he’s glad he’s turning to the sink, because half a second later Nishinoya runs into the bathroom, screaming and brandishing one of the antique swords fixed to the inn’s walls. Hinata screams, then, too, and Kageyama feels the blood rushing away from his dick so fast he’s almost kind of amazed.

* * *

Nishinoya spends the day running laps instead of practicing, despite the inn’s owner forgiving him pretty easily.

“It wasn’t him who scared me, anyway,” is what Nishinoya is panting, when he finally finishes his third set. He soaks himself with a water bottle, fans himself with his hand, and then gives Daichi a furtive glance. Kageyama is taking five, already too hot to function properly. He nods in agreement, breathing in through his dry mouth. “Just because I was making sure our underclassmen were safe and sound from the ghosts haunting this inn,” he adds, narrowing his eyes. _What did you think would happen if you stole a sword and swung it around_ , Kageyama thinks dryly, but just lets it pass.

“I understand,” he whispers solemnly, instead, and they both hang their heads for the remainder of their breaks. Nishinoya’s is shorter, though, and after Daichi gives him a nod, Nishinoya gets up on his feet and begins jogging again, with a resigned grumble under his breath. Kageyama watches him leave, his sneakers squeaking in the wood, and then leans against the wall, legs sprawled out. The floor isn’t cool, at least not as much as his steaming legs would’ve wanted, but he is still somewhat content and relaxed. Somewhat is the keyword – Hinata’s glowing, fucking glowing, always ready to train or always smiling and grinning, and Kageyama’s sure it’s because he got his dick sucked. That’s great, really, but Kageyama didn’t, and he’s feeling wound up. Too wound up, even – now it’s not just his brain betraying him, but Hinata, as well.

He’s jumping, by the net, skin glistening. Kageyama licks his lips, feels the back of his neck heat when Hinata drops; his hand reaches for the collar of his shirt and he wipes his face with it, averting his gaze from the field. By the time he’s done, Hinata’s staring at him, a little impatient, tapping his foot against the lines. Finally, after the longest second of consideration, he crosses over them with a smile, directing to Kageyama. His first reaction is to tense up and run, but then Nishinoya intercepts Hinata with a loud dare, and Hinata begins racing around the gym alongside the other boy instead.

Oh. Well. Okay – Kageyama almost feels … disappointed? He wipes his face again, counts down the seconds until he returns to practice. Suga is looking at him when he gets up from the floor, a funny little smile on his face, like he knows. Kageyama’s so busy trying to degrade his gloomy expression into its customary glare, he almost takes one of Tsukishima’s shitty serves to the face.

“Oops,” he says, pushing his glasses up his nose and looking decidedly unapologetic, “you’re so small I almost didn’t see you, King.”

“Better get a new prescription, shitty four-eyes,” Kageyama replies, hissing.

Tsukishima’s eyes narrow behind their lenses. Kageyama’s eyes narrow under his hair. Daichi’s mouth tightens into a smile, and then they get kicked outside.

* * *

He sees Hinata during dinner, does his very best to avoid him as he jams pieces of food into his mouth, and sneaks out to hide after the meal is done. He’s not a coward, not – not really, he’s just. How are you supposed to look someone in the face after sucking their dick? He’d thought Daichi’s mails had been bad, but this is much worse. Hinata’s always looking at him, always trying to get his attention, and Kageyama knows they need to talk, but he can’t do it right now.

“Hey, king,” Hinata says amiably, from behind him, and Kageyama jumps even as he holds onto the railing. Outside, it’s warmer, thicker, but Kageyama prefers silence over temperature sometimes. The rest of the team is still inside, chatting cordially (Suga, Azumane, and Daichi), bragging (Nishinoya) or arm-wrestling (Tanaka). Yamaguchi and Tsukishima are nowhere to be found and Kageyama prefers it that way, but he still wonders.

He clears his head, focuses.

“What do you want,” Kageyama says, and then regrets it, because he sounds like he’s asking. He sounds like he _wants_ to know. He kicks the wooden railing in frustration, turning away. Hinata closes the sliding glass door behind him, steps out into the balcony with quick, light steps, and then leans over beside Kageyama.

“You know,” Hinata replies, completely disregarding Kageyama, “I have a little sister, which means I’m never home alone.” Kageyama flushes pink, he can feel it, as well as the twitch under his eye. Hinata goes on, undeterred and shameless: “I’ll imagine you wouldn’t want me to come over since you’ve never invited _anyone_ there,” and he gives Kageyama a significant look, like the two of them have been dating for at least a year and Hinata’s been wanting to introduce himself to Kageyama’s parents for a long time, “so, shouldn’t you like—“ he lets the words linger, makes a vague, confused hand gesture.

“What,” Kageyama hisses.

“Shouldn’t we,” Hinata says impishly, pausing to lick his lips, and Kageyama shifts into crimson, he knows it, and it’s all because Hinata’s startlingly quick to realize how to press his hyper-aware buttons, “take full advantage of this training camp?”

Holy shit, Kageyama thinks, mouth watering. He holds onto the railing, feeling weak.

“Yeah,” is what he says, voice shaking, and, after a tense beat, hurriedly tacks on: “Don’t forget – you owe me.”

Hinata just grins, and the veranda almost lights up with the brightness of it.

This time, Kageyama lets himself bask in its warmth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tsukishima and yamaguchi are most definitely getting busy w/ each other and overall just snorting/smirking at how inept the oddball duo is in regards to sexual tension
> 
> i mean what who said that


	5. i’m impressed, i’m impressed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops life got in the way but here we are!! we overcame this whole mountain kids! i really hope this doesn’t have any mistakes but i am incapable of rereading this again so lets hope for the best!!

“Why do you know this place,” Kageyama asks, eyes narrowed and arms crossed.

“It’s where Kenma takes his naps during practice,” Hinata replies with a shrug, pointing at the pile of blankets and cushions in the corner of the room. Well – attic is the more correct word, Kageyama thinks, giving the tiny room a sweeping glance. It’s surprisingly clean and tidy, and there are handheld chargers methodically placed into the small bookshelf by the door. Hinata throws his backpack on the floor and sets his hands on his hips, triumphant. “It’s his secret hideaway for when he gets tired, mostly, but since it’s night time now and he can laze around—“

“Yeah,” Kageyama cuts in, face burning, “I get it, dumbass.”

Hinata frowns at his tone, and the black-haired boy straightens a bit, interested, the hope inside his chest fluttering – but then the redhead just fidgets and crosses his arms, mirroring Kageyama. He waits, then, analyzing the room, giving Hinata time. Kageyama’s eyes flicker to the door, closed behind them, and then to the window, open. The night is still warm, but the streetlights’ yellow heat spill into the room and make it feel warmer still. Or maybe it’s just him.

For the first time in a while, they’re alone. Hinata fidgets and then:

“W-Well, don’t you get I’m making it up to you, stupid,” he says, blushing, stretching up until his personal space has absorbed Kageyama, and he’s closing his eyes and – kissing him. It’s sudden, because Hinata’s so shitty at reading the mood it’s almost kind of incredible, but Kageyama still tightens up, still feels tense all over. Hinata’s hand curls around his neck and pulls down, short nails barely perceptible, and Kageyama … well, he allows it. Hinata only opens his mouth in reply, like he’s rewarding Kageyama.

It’s different from their first kiss; it’s smoother, wetter, and Kageyama’s hands find their spot on Hinata’s hips without him asking them to. Their teeth clink together numbly; Kageyama makes to pull back, embarrassed, but Hinata is stubborn and doesn’t part, like he’s trying to breathe life into Kageyama whether he wants it or not. It’s pretty stupid, but Kageyama only closes his eyes and sets his palms against Hinata’s shorts, full and flat and bringing him closer. Trying not to commit the curve of Hinata’s butt to memory and completely failing.

Hinata squeaks and pulls to part, and Kageyama rolls his eyes. Really. _Really_. What now, a stammering quartet of shaky voices? He’s had enough of his, embarrassed and shy, and he’s not sure he can handle Hinata’s as well. He averts his gaze to the wooden floor, listens to it creak when he shifts his weight. His face feels pinched and annoyed and he doesn’t really like it, because he doesn’t _feel_ annoyed, just hot all over, but he doesn’t erase the expression, either.

“Don’t touch me,” Hinata mutters, and it’s not trembling or stupid, this time, it just is. Dark eyes shoot down to meet deep brown; the shorter boy is frowning, his hands catching onto Kageyama’s collar, stretching it out. His mother will have a fit over this shirt, Kageyama thinks, and only swallows, lets him proceed. “So – does this mean – I … I was right, wasn’t I?” Hinata continues, releasing the fabric after Kageyama fidgets again, smoothing it down with his palms. Kageyama closes his hands. “You really are perverted, Kageyama. I didn’t expect it at all! Looking all cool a-and stuff, but you’re just …” his voice fades out.

“Fuck you,” Kageyama says, and remains completely immobile anyway. Obeying. His ears are steaming, or close to it, and if he focuses he can hear someone in the inn’s backyard, shouting and singing. The voice closes down into a faraway whistle when Hinata leans in, leering, eyes wide.

“I-Isn’t that what I’m here for, stupid,” Hinata manages, and even though his eyes are empty and serene, the smile on his flushed face pulls more to the right than to the left. He’s ecstatic, Kageyama realizes, and his chest sort of … detaches? He decides to set a distracted hand against it, just to check if he’s okay, but Hinata’s faster and he grips Kageyama’s wrist, tiny hand warm and a little sweaty. It’s hotter, now, and Kageyama blames Tokyo’s stifling summer because he doesn’t want to admit he’s losing it. But his cheeks are flushed and he’s forgetting to breathe at increasingly smaller intervals of time, and. Wow, okay. He closes his eyes and catches his breath.

Hinata’s thumb soothes his wrist, drawing an arc, and then his mouth is on Kageyama’s knuckles. Where the hell did he learn this stuff? Kageyama’s spine trembles, just a little, and Hinata’s kisses move from his fingers to his wrist, to the inside of his elbow, and that’s when the black-haired boy pulls his arm away, feeling his blood pool hotly by his navel.

“What,” Kageyama says flatly, voice squeaky, eyes bulging. He can feel them, almost as if about to pop. Hinata looks offended, and maybe a little embarrassed, and Kageyama backtracks, the regret filling him up. Hinata questions him with an eyebrow. “No, wait, I mean – uhh, kind of, tickles. I don’t know, like,” he adds, and then expels a sigh, heavy and dragging, and it sounds like _fuuuah_. Hinata’s bending over laughing seconds after, eyes closed, his hand releasing him to wipe at his eyes. Kageyama tenses up completely, feeling sharp, but Hinata only laughs more and kisses him. He’s still smiling, though, and it’s more of a peck, a slight thing that still doesn’t fail to incinerate Kageyama’s stomach.

The humor eventually (thankfully) seeps away, and Hinata’s kisses become more serious again. Kageyama’s shoulders relax, his hands find Hinata’s sides, and Hinata’s hands find Kageyama’s neck, and, and – Kageyama is taking breaths against his mouth, ignoring everything that isn’t Hinata’s tongue. It’s so nice, he thinks, and almost doesn’t notice when they fall onto the cushions. His dick does, though; Hinata’s leg is brushing up against Kageyama’s thigh and his mouth waters, his stomach quivers.

The redhead pulls away, breathing harsh and warm against Kageyama’s tingling mouth. Kageyama tries to rest his weight on his elbows, finds that one of his arms slips past the cushions and hits the floor. The pain almost doesn’t register, mostly because (Hinata’s reaching for his shorts) the blankets under the pillows ease the crash.

Hinata’s fingers slip past the elastic band of Kageyama’s shorts, boxers, whatever – all it matters is that Hinata’s hand is tight around his dick and that Hinata’s surprisingly efficient at masturbation. He must be, figures Kageyama, because his eyes are rolling back and his hips are rising to meet Hinata’s grip and _everything_ is hot, now.

“Uhhm,” Hinata says, his voice unsure but not his gaze, unwavering and fixated on Kageyama’s dick. His shorts are pitched and that brings up a surge of delight through Kageyama’s heaving chest, and his head falls to the side, leaning on his tense shoulder. He’s already close; he can’t believe it. How frustrated is he? And more importantly – how frustrated is Hinata? “You’re really leaking, Kageyama! That’s incredible! Do you like getting a handjob that much?”

Kageyama’s spine quivers at the words, skin heating up. Hinata’s hand stills as he clicks his tongue, disapproving.

“Come on, Kageyama, sit still,” he says. Kageyama bites his lip until the pain is dull, and sits still. “Great,” Hinata quips, and begins anew. “You know,” he adds, in a small, embarrassed voice that doesn’t match the practiced movements of his wrist, fuck him, god damn it, Kageyama’s hips are trembling already, “if the – um, if I’m talking too much, y’know, if it bothers you—“

“It doesn’t,” Kageyama gasps out somehow, the embarrassment flooding through him at the same time his mouth waters. He presses his pinched face into the pillow by his shoulder, closes his eyes. Hinata rewards him with a flick of his thumb, and it’s great. Great enough that he attempts to follow his hand with his hips.

There’s a pause. He catches his breath, opens his eyes and slides them into Hinata’s, swallows wetly. He still can’t help feeling a bit incensed at the thought that Hinata’s better at something than he is, so he struggles, clenches his jaw and brings a hand to his mouth, covers it up. Hinata gives him an evaluating look, and then pulls Kageyama’s legs apart and sits on them. Holy _shit_ , Kageyama thinks, staring down at Hinata’s tented shorts.

“I’ve, uh, I’ve been thinking,” Hinata says, palming down his dick distractedly as he continues to get Kageyama off, “about y-your mouth,” and this part makes his voice shake, but he’s biting his lip and flushing red, and Kageyama has to close his eyes again just not to drink him up, because if he looks at Hinata for another second he’s going to come. “Do you wanna – you know, do you want me to suck your dick?”

Fucking hell, Kageyama thinks, and even though he doesn’t make a sound he still hears a whine, desperate and hot, from the back of his mind. That embarrasses him, and he knocks his teeth together, his knees too, bringing them up and Hinata down. Straight against his dick, splayed out, his surprised hands darting out to press at Kageyama’s shoulders. Hinata’s gym shorts are at least cool and soft, but the weight brings Kageyama over the edge and dangles him there instead of letting him fall. Hinata sits up, edging his butt higher along Kageyama’s hips to take the pressure away – and then shouts in alarm.

“Shit! Kageyama! A-Are you okay!?”

Kageyama opens his eyes to find Hinata’s flushed face close to his, and the warmth splatters on his skin again, instead of just his dick. His thighs twitch against Hinata’s butt and the smaller boy’s concern fades into hot interest, his eyes wide and focused as he looks down in realization. Kageyama’s thoughts are jumbled, indistinct, and he begins to make hand signals at Hinata before he remembers they’re not supposed to be used outside games. What the hell, he thinks, swallowing again.

“I just thought you’d made a really weird face,” Hinata breathes out, and Kageyama wishes he could punch him in the face and stomp off with a huff, but he just closes his hands tightly, grasps at the closest pair of pillows, “but when I really see it, a-aren’t you actually kinda,” and his eyes fade faraway as he grinds against Kageyama’s bare dick, “hot, right now?”

“I’ll kill you,” is what Kageyama wants to say, but doesn’t; he just feels hotter, tighter, and – his hands are twisting in the rough fabric of the blankets now, why are there even blankets here, it’s so hot, too hot, what the hell. He can feel Hinata’s dick, warm and hard against his, and _why_ hasn’t Hinata taken off his stupid shorts yet? He fidgets, trying to stop the pressure (or increase it, he’s not sure which), and Hinata stills, his trembling knees pressing against Kageyama’s sides.

“Uh,” Hinata whispers, getting this distracted look on his face as he presses back against Kageyama’s legs, back arching and mouth opening in a pant, and Kageyama throws his head back and tries to find something to focus on as the other boy continues to rub himself against his thigh. It’s the thought that it’s Hinata, that he’s _choosing_ to do this with Kageyama, that bothers Kageyama so much. Hinata is all sunshine and loudness, a stupid kid who makes friends everywhere he goes, a loudmouth who is never afraid of the people he should be afraid of; what’s he doing with him, really? “Stop moving, Kageyama,” the smaller boy huffs, half-annoyed, and there’s no threat in his voice because it’s shaky and needy, but Kageyama still tries his best. “Are you getting off to this _that_ bad?”

Well, not so much getting off to it as getting off to _Hinata_ , but, yes. Yes, he is. Kageyama just narrows his watering eyes at Hinata, though, refuses to put it in words. It being – Hinata, he supposes? There’s something very different about Hinata’s expression when he’s grinding his ass into Kageyama’s thigh, and he knows he should think it’s obvious, but then again Hinata’s face is just as dumb and ecstatic in games, in school, in life, and how is Kageyama ever going to talk to him again without remembering this moment? His hips shoot up despite Hinata’s previous commands and, for a moment, he wonders how he’ll get punished, and his dick goes fucking wild, but Hinata chooses that moment to unabashedly moan, mouth open and eyes closed, and then he’s coming. What?

No, that’s – no way, it’s way too soon, isn’t it? What the fuck? Why is Kageyama so bothered, why is he so hot, why can’t he make fun of the fact Hinata’s a quickshot? He leans back on Kenma’s pile of blankets, then regrets thinking about Kenma, and then blocks everything out and focuses on how firmly Hinata’s legs are wound up around his stomach.

Kageyama’s eyes open without him even feeling them, shoot straight down to Hinata’s shaking thighs, the stain on his shorts, the way he thrusts his dick into Kageyama’s and moans again, and Kageyama’s not coming, but he’s close, close enough for it to ache, for his eyes to try and flutter. His mouth is open like Hinata’s and he doesn’t shiver when they clash once more, Hinata leaning down to kiss Kageyama, flattening his smaller frame all over.

“What’re you waiting for, Kageyama,” Hinata says, still flushed pink, still sticky, his hips rotating between kisses. Kageyama tries going through hand signs in his head, anything, but Hinata opens his legs wider, brings his ankles behind Kageyama’s knees in a startling and honestly freaky display of elasticity. “Just cum already, okay?” he breathes, warm and dirty, his neck straining when his tongue flicks at Kageyama’s ear. Gross, he thinks unsurely, throwing his head back, and Hinata grins above him. It reminds Kageyama of when he spikes, of when the ball slaps at the floor with a speed no one else can match, and he softens his posture, lets Hinata take over.

“I’m,” he starts, but his voice is tiny and gross, and Hinata cuts him off with a kiss, snakes his hand between their stomachs to grab around Kageyama’s dick. This time, he recognizes it – Hinata really is used to getting himself off, he has to be, and that makes Kageyama groan chokingly, his voice needy and hoarse.

“Y-You know, you’re – you’re really,” Hinata starts loudly, flushed pink, his stuttering breath warm against Kageyama’s mouth. His obvious excitement contaminates his previously flawless rhythm, and his hand shifts to a higher speed, a firmer grip. Kageyama’s eyes roll all the way back, a parallel arc to his shivering spine, and Hinata’s opening his mouth to speak again, but Kageyama’s faster, needier, and he pulls the shorter boy down into a wet kiss before he moans keenly into his mouth, hips rising.

In that moment, there’s nothing pulling for his attention, nothing like a faraway conversation or a teammate’s mistake—there’s just him, and Hinata, and the surge of emotion that leaves him weak-kneed and pliable. Kageyama dimly recognizes feeling impressed, before slumping down and catching his breath, the sensation escaping him.

* * *

“Kenma’s never going to forgive me,” Hinata is moaning, holding the blanket up and staring at it. Kageyama’s face is hot as he dutifully ignores the stains across it, staring out the window instead. The night is high, and if they don’t get to their futons eventually, they’re going to have Tanaka or Nishinoya barging into the room, because that’s how Kageyama’s shitty life works and he better get used to it already. “How’m I supposed to get these off?”

“You should’ve thought about it before you – “ _seduced me,_ Kageyama starts, and cuts himself off, because the ending to that sentence would be detrimental to his mental health. “Dumbass,” he adds, though, because Hinata _is_ a dumbass.

Hinata’s face is pink and fairly fluorescent as it turns to Kageyama’s, scrunched up in focus and annoyance.

“ _You_ were the one who came all over—“ and Kageyama slaps his hand over Hinata’s pink face again, feeling the blood rushing into his face. Hinata Shōyō, the boy who has a heat stroke when he talks to their manager but spews out nearly-pornographic lines without a care in the world. Kageyama breathes in, regains control, and then lets go of Hinata’s face. The smaller boy looks up at Kageyama with narrowed eyes. Kageyama returns it. Hinata droops, frowns: “… Do you think I can wash these in the bathrooms?”

“If you wanna get caught by Daichi-san,” Kageyama replies. He scratches at his bruised elbow, feels it twinging, and then swallows in dry. Despite his best attempts at separating this, there’s still – he still –

“What is it? What, what?” Hinata questions, horrified, edging away from Kageyama. “What’re you making that face for?”

Kageyama tenses, feels like a billion degrees, and then grits his jaw. Hinata’s face softens in realization, his shoulders relaxing, his fingers dropping the blanket.

“You, you’re,” he starts, hands closed into fists, his face hot. The smaller boy looks almost nervous, expectant, eyes bright. “Dumbass,” Kageyama completes, in a soft exhale, his hand dragging down his flushed face. Hinata frowns at that, a mix of offended and confused, but then he’s throwing the stained blanket over his shoulder with determination and smiling.

“W-Well, come on, w-won’t you help me with this,” is all the other boy says, just as pink, averting his eyes.

“Y-Yeah,” Kageyama whispers, ducking his head when he walks past.

* * *

It’s not until Kageyama’s home and freshly showered that the exhaustion sets in.

The bus ride was smooth and quiet enough to catnap, and his shower ran cool and revitalizing, but when Kageyama sits on his bed he feels ready to crumble into dust. He lies back, eyes heavy, staring at the ceiling. Outside, his neighbors are still chatting, enjoying the cool summer night, and he grumbles, curls into himself and stays. The crickets outside are mellowed out, today, low enough to mellow, loud enough to be apparent.

He feels ready to cave into sleep, but there’s still something restless digging at his chest, at his stomach, into Kageyama. He closes his eyes, rubs across them, listens to the chortling old ladies outside. His phone vibrates on his bed, still connected to the charger. Kageyama groaningly reaches out for it, unwilling to stretch, and flicks it open, expecting spam. It isn’t.

“Oh,” he manages, and forgets all about crickets and old ladies, bringing the phone to his warm ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well that's that!!!! i struggled with the end a lot since i wanted to give the idea of continuing at the same time i ended the story, so if someone could tell me if it works that'd be fab yeah??
> 
> in the future i guess i’ll have to aim to write a dumber kageyama (i feel like i’ve written him a bit too clever in this fic lmao) and to get into hinata’s head better. i hope you’ve enjoyed this … uhh, well, this is a pwp i guess?
> 
> well, tl;dr - i hope you’ve enjoyed this fic despite its frequent and quite shameless deviations from canon!! thanks all yall for your comments and kudos and stay sharp! ( ´w`)


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